


the sands have run out against us

by majorshipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Dark, Drama, F/M, Het, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorshipper/pseuds/majorshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The demon stands on the other side of the room, hips cocked to the side with a certainty the angel knows isn’t a good thing. One hand sits on her hip, slipped into the belt-loops of her jeans; the other toys idly with the long silver blade that shines in the moonlight.</i></p><p>Spoilers for all aired episodes, particularly 6x10 and 6x20</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sands have run out against us

**Author's Note:**

> Well, er, I've got no excuse. There totally needs to be more Meg/Castiel after 6x20. Even if this isn't exactly what I'd had in mind.

“Consider it a show of faith in our new alliance,” the he says, lips curling upwards in a dark smile.

Castiel ignores the very human urge to shudder at what stands before him, what he is dealing with, and merely nods. “Very well.”

After all, it’s just one more abomination.

 

-

 

The small room is dark, though Castiel has enough experience with the Winchesters to recognize a motel room. The demon stands on the other side of the room, hips cocked to the side with a certainty the angel knows isn’t a good thing. One hand sits on her hip, slipped into the belt-loops of her jeans; the other toys idly with the long silver blade that shines in the moonlight.

“I could kill you with this,” she says.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, though he’s not sure why he doesn’t just take the sword from her, why he doesn’t just send her, screeching, back to hell right now and end this.

His sword shimmers when she brings up to her lips and wraps her fingers around the edges, looking teasingly fragile around the sword that has brought so many angels to their knees.

“I have a better idea of what I could do, though.”

And, well, he’s already made a deal with the king of hell. How much further can he sink?

 

 

Meg isn’t quiet sure why they do this. She tries not to dwell on the fact that she’s fucking Castiel on a semi-regular basis, because, well, once is breaking him in, giving that stuck-up virgin angel something to remember her by; but more? That’s dangerous.

She can feel it in the way his hands are just _that close_ to crushing this girl’s hips when he burns bruises into skin, grinding bones into powder, the way he glares at her in disgust when they’re done, like she has any more honor and dignity to lose(which, hello, demon here). But for some reason, no matter how close he comes to smiting her, how often his hand lingers over her forehead, how fucking violent he gets, she still starts teasing when he appears, still loves the thrill of taking something from him that he doesn’t even notice is missing.

 

No matter what the others might say, Meg isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t have survived the apocalypse and the fallout afterwards if she wasn’t smart and capable of taking care of herself. She knew when to listen and when to suck up to the boss. She also knew when to listen to the rumors, and when to know when the _rumors_ were true.

When she catches wind of Crowley’s mysterious return and how challengers seem to just vanish as though wiped off the earth, she grins. The next time, before he can vanish, while he’s still sliding his tie into place, she leans over his shoulder and whispers in his ear “Say hi to your new friend for me.”

He stiffens and vanishes, that stupid angelic wind kicking up the sheets on her bed.

She can’t help but laugh at her oh-so-righteous angel who fucks demons and deals with the devil and still can’t lie to save his life.

 

She’s always been reckless. Call it a fatalistic trait.

 

The familiar flutter of Castiel’s arrival doesn’t send off warning bells, when it should, she knows. It’s too early, too wrong, too _off_. She’s turning around to greet him with the usual pleasantries when the words die on her lips. He’s just standing right there in front of her, arms by his sides, when the blade slips into his hand.

Meg takes a step back, all too familiar with the murderous darkness in his eyes. The small table behind her clatters against the wall when she can go no further; he advances.

“Now, Clarence, why would _you_ want to kill _me_?” she tries, but there is no response from the angel.

“It’s a favor to me, you see,” a voice says from behind Castiel, and then he steps to the side and she’s already put the name with the face but still sneers when she sees him.

“Crowley,” she says, trying not to let fear slip in, because either way she’s dead and she is not going to die begging and scared like a coward. “So, you’re his bitch now too,” she says to Castiel, and sucks in a breath when the point of his sword is sitting in the hollow of her throat. She can feel a trickle of blood dripping down her sternum and between her breasts, but she doesn’t look down.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the other demon prods, looking at his watch like there’s somewhere else he’d actually rather be.

 _Shit_ , Meg thinks.

“I bet your friends are real proud of you, angel, killing for your new boss like a good little angel-whore.” She leans towards him as much as their positions allow. “I bet they’re so proud of what you’ve become.”

He punches her, then. It pushes her backwards and to the side and she spits blood on his jacket, feeling a tiny surge of accomplishment when some spatters on his nice white shirt.

“I bet they love that you’re one of us now,” she hisses.

And then the angelic sliver is grating against bone and tearing through flesh and it feels like her insides are on fire because they are.

The lights go out with a flicker and a scream.


End file.
